


To Be Happy

by susannah_wilde



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susannah_wilde/pseuds/susannah_wilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry returns to Hogwarts for his Eighth Year, feeling a little lost after the death of his friends. To his surprise, Draco Malfoy becomes his friend as they help each other heal from the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Happy

**Author's Note:**

> Author: susannah_wilde  
> Prompter: sophia_clark  
> Prompt Number: 101  
> Title: To be Happy  
> Pairing(s): Harry/Draco  
> Summary: Harry returns to Hogwarts for his Eighth Year, feeling a little lost after the death of his friends. To his surprise, Draco Malfoy becomes his friend as they help each other heal from the war.  
> Rating: PG  
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Warning(s): Lots of angst at the beginning.  
> Epilogue compliant? No. Goes off in a different direction after the War.  
> Word Count: 5,141 words  
> Author's Notes: Thanks to all the mods for all their help, especially dysonrules, for giving me an extension on such short notice. Y’all are wonderful. To my beta L, for editing the first draft of ~17k, before sending it back with a note that read, “I like the idea, but I don’t understand how to read it.” (Also for beta-ing the second draft on such short notice.) My first fic had Harry over 100 years old, looking into a Pensieve at a collection of 13 memories from his Eighth Year. (It would be confusing for the reader, and even myself if I’m honest, trying to distinguish between young and old Harry when both are in the Pensieve.) This version condenses some of the memories for a better telling of Harry’s 8th year.

  
_There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved._  - George Sand

  
  
  


  
**One**   


  
  
  
McGonagall is sitting at the High Table, speaking from Dumbledore’s old chair to all the students. She looks very tired and Harry doesn’t blame her. The war exhausted the energy of everyone, but at least Voldemort is dead and life can return to normal. If only it were that simple.  
  
Her voice fades in the distance as Harry looks around the Great Hall. There are so many empty seats, and he can almost visualize the face, of where people should be. When he receives curious glances back from the new students, most glancing at the scar on his forehead, he returns to looking at the returning 8th years. They share a round table, he forgets the reason why, but it must have something to do with setting the example of house unity. The ‘eighth year’ students, composed mainly of war heroes, have returned as a favour to McGonagall. There aren’t many of them, less than ten in total, but all Harry can be bothered to recognise is Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy.  
  
Neville Longbottom sits next to Harry, but even Neville can see that it is a useless effort to have a conversation with Harry. Harry is not paying attention, eyes focused on Draco Malfoy sitting three chairs away. There is an empty chair on either side, as if no one wants to even share the same air as him. If Harry looks awful due to the nightmares keeping him awake, then it’s nothing compared to the way Malfoy looks. A living skeleton.  
  
That’s the way Harry feels. He’s survived death, but knows he’s just a shade away from joining, from greeting him as a friend. At least then he would be able to see Hermione and Ron once again.  
  
Instead of familiar jokes and the exasperated sighs he’s associated with every Welcoming feast, Harry looks up when he hears excited whispers and even McGonagall halts in her speech. An eagle owl swoops down from the ceiling, and clutched in its claws is a bright red envelope.  
  
Heads turn as they follow the owl, which hovers above the 8th year round table. The envelope stays in the air, beginning to singe at the corners, until Malfoy raises his hand and barely touches the seam to open it. When it bursts open and Lucius Malfoy’s voice is heard over the Great Hall.  
  


 

_Vous avez déshonoré cette famille. Tu n'es plus mon héritier. Vous n'êtes rien._  


  
  
  
  
Malfoy doesn’t react and still holds his head up high even if he is refusing to look at anyone. His cheeks begin to colour as the envelope burst into flames and the ashes settle in his hair and over his clothes. Then the unexpected happens. Harry, being the person closest to Malfoy, sees that his robes have disappeared until all that is left is pale skin, nude as the day he was born.  
  
Like nothing else, this sets off a wildfire of laughter, jeers, and taunts. It is okay now, finally, to express what the students truly feel towards the Death Eater. Malfoy, this disgrace for a human being, scum that should have died during the war, held no power over them anymore. It’s as if they have forgotten that Harry testified for Malfoy and his mother during the trials, ensuring that they received reduced sentences.  
  
Harry looks around the Great Hall and has had enough. He feels the slow anger rise through him as he curls his trembling hands into fists. This wasn’t the reason why he had killed Voldemort just months prior. He is sick of seeing that despite the Minister’s assurances that they have learned their lessons and will not discriminate, that nothing has really changed. This new generation of Hogwarts’ students is proof of that. The only consolation Harry receives is that Neville looks horrified at what is happening around them.  
  
Malfoy is still sitting at his seat, now with a full red flush on his face and cheeks, his right hand clasped over his left forearm to hide his sin.  
  
A few buttons pop off to the ground as Harry takes off his Gryffindor school robes and stands up. The Hall quiets down as the students look eager to see what would happen between the two of them. Harry ignores everyone as he walks toward Malfoy with his robes held outstretched. Grey eyes stare at him not in surprise, but with gratitude. Malfoy quickly pulls his arms through the sleeves and wraps it around his body.  
  
Without thinking, Harry grabs Malfoy’s arm and drags him into the side room located on the left side of the High Table. There are no portraits in this room, something that he remembers from fourth year. Once inside, he lights the fireplace with a flick of his wand and sits down on the couch next to Malfoy.  
  
Now that they are alone in a room and Harry has a chance to look closely, he realises that his earlier assessment is correct. Malfoy looks like hell. There are bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep, he’s thinner, a frightening prospect considering his body shape, but most telling is the way he looks defeated.  
  
“What happened, Mal—” is as far as he gets before his throat feels as if it were closing in on him. Harry brings his hands to touch his throat before he hears Malfoy sigh.  
  
“There’s nothing’s wrong with you, Potter.”  
  
“Then why can’t I say your name?”  
  
“That’s what the Howler came to tell me. I’ve been disowned. I’m no longer a—” He stops speaking and just looks at Harry.  
  
“He disowned you?”  
  
“Many reasons, the second most important is that you’re still alive.”  
  
“Just because he lost a war? I cleared your name. He should be happy that he’s still alive and has a son.”  
  
“Does it matter? It’s just his petty revenge on not being able to have his freedom. If that were the only case, then he’d just take away the fortune. But he took away my name, Potter. That’s only one reason why he would do that. If I can’t produce an heir.”  
  
“So what if you’re sterile. You could always adopt.”  
  
“I’m not sterile, Potter, but gay.”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Dumbledore was gay.”  
  
“Even so, he believes that the bloodline should die with him rather than allow it to be tainted.”  
  
Harry takes a deep breath before asking, “What about you? What do you believe?”  
  
“For what it’s worth, and there’s not much left to myself, I am glad you killed him. Whatever I face out that door is nothing compared to the horrors I lived thought last year.” Harry looks at him and sees nothing that betrays that statement. “As to why I’m even telling you this, even I don’t know myself, but—”  
  
When McGonagall opens the door, Malfoy shuts his mouth, lips pressed in a thin line.  
  


 

**Two**  


  
  
  
  
The night of the Welcoming feast is one that nobody would forget for a long time, especially Harry. The questions began as soon as Harry had walked out of that room, but not once did Harry say anything, not even to McGonagall. Draco, because Harry couldn’t think of him as Malfoy, not ever again, kept silent as well, even as the attacks from students worsened. Harry certainly knew it, even if he had not yet witnessed it. On more than one occasion, Draco had returned to the dorms with a bloody face, cuts and bruises on his hands, before promptly shutting the curtains on his bed closed.  
  
During the day, Harry paid attention in class, glad to see that his peers would be the eighth years for all of his classes. He took to sitting next to Draco, as Neville preferred sitting next to Hannah Abbott. It wasn’t the same as previous years, unable to write notes on the parchment with Ron, while on his other side, Hermione would write down notes furiously. He also sat next to Draco during meals. It helped Harry by giving him a silent companion that no one dared insult or harm while in his presence.  
  
But Draco couldn’t be by his side forever.  
  
The worse was walking around the castle, because he could still see the place in ruins, the way it was during the Battle of Hogwarts. The teachers had done an excellent job in restoring the castle, but all Harry could see was who had died there. He took to wearing the Invisibility Cloak for two reasons. The first was to have private moments for himself so that people couldn’t ask him about the War.  
  
The other reason was Ginny. Although she never outright said anything, there were times where he would catch her staring, or sending notes asking if he wanted to talk. He knew that she alone understood perfectly what he was going through, and could empathize, because she has lost her friend and brothers. He didn’t want to get back with her; Harry felt that he was damaged goods, but he just didn’t know how to tell her. So like the coward he was, he hid under the Invisibility Cloak.  
  
Which he is now using as he hurries away from the Great Hall, trying not to bump into people entering for the Hallowe’en fest. As great of an idea of McGonagall to provide another social event to establish some sort of normalcy, he just couldn’t deal with another night of sad looks or hero worship thrown in his direction.  
  
The cool air reaches out to him as he steps outside and leans against the oak doors. In the moonlight, Dumbledore’s tomb glows white, a thing of beauty that beckons. He hesitates. His thoughts on Dumbledore are mixed at best, not quite sure what he should feel now that he’s seen Snape’s memories and what he’s learned in the past year. In the end, he feels a strange pull in that direction. He is certain that if he were not at school, he’d be in Godric’s Hollow, visiting his parent’s grave. The least he can do is pay his respects.  
  
Harry walks across the grass, until twenty metres away from the tomb, he stops when he sees another person is already there. The stranger stands there with its back straight and the hood of the robes pulled over its head, not moving. Harry hears mumbled words and is ready to pull out his wand and say a few hexes, when he hears the familiar voice more clearly.  
  
“I never had a chance to thank you, Professor, for giving me an option which would have made things turn out differently for me.”  
  
Harry’s jaw dropped.  _What had happened to Draco to change him into this new person?_  
  
I’m sorry that you died, that I was this close to being the one to do so. I was involved in something I didn’t quite understand, but just doing it to appease my father.”  
  
At that, Harry pulls off his cloak and stands next to him.  
  
“I think Dumbledore knew. I was there at the Astronomy Tower, you know, and even I could see you were forced, and if Snape hadn’t arrived, you would have lowered your wand.”  
  
Draco is still for a moment and then asks, “How could you be so sure?”  
  
Harry pulls out the other wand that he has taken to carrying around.  
  
“This wand, even though surrounded by evil and death, did me a world of good. It helped me defeat Voldemort. Yet even before I became its owner, you were doing something good with it. At the trials, Luna Lovegood testified that when she was kept as a prisoner, you would heal them, feed them, tried to help this with this wand, even when you were punished. There is some good in it. That’s why I’m giving it back to you.” He pushes it forward to Draco, who grabs it and holds it in his hand for a few seconds, before snapping it in half.  
  
“Whatever you think, this wand has done more evil, so that any good I did pales in comparison. The things I did, Potter, I still have nightmares about. But it’s my problem and I’ll deal with it. In the meantime, I’ve this Ministry-issued wand. I’m going to get a new one, one that I can rightfully claim as my own. I’m not going to be burdened by my past, not if I want to survive and be happy.”  
  
With that, Draco walks away, leaving behind a very pensive Harry.  
  


 

**Three**  


  
  
  
  
It certainly is unexpected, at least to everyone at Hogwarts, but Harry takes heed to Draco’s advice and breaks things off with Ginny. They are in one of the greenhouses and he’s helping her trim the flutterby bush, trying to figure out how to start the conversation. It isn’t until Ginny puts down the pruning shears and turns to face him that he realizes he’s nervous.  
  
“Harry, what am I to you?” She stands a foot in front of him, arms crossed, waiting for an answer.  
  
He looks down at his hands where the soft earth has managed to get underneath his fingernails and has left a layer of dirt covering his hands. He reaches down for his wand to try and  _Scourify_  the mess, when Ginny grabs his hands and stops him.  
  
“A friend,” he says at last and he hears Ginny let out a huge breath. “I need you to be a friend right now, because I don’t think I’m ready for anything else.” He lets go of her hands and looks up to see her giving him a sad smile.  
  
“I thought so; that’s why I never pushed for anything else. And in all honesty, I think it’s the best for the both of us right now.” Ginny turns to water the plants and Harry finds that he isn’t terribly upset about just having been broken up with.  
  
They finish the work in silence and Harry’s about to ask her if she would like to play a game of Exploding Snap, when she asks, “Have the visits to the mind Healer been helping you? For me, talking about Ron and Hermione helps—“  
  
She knows she’s said something wrong when Harry picks up the pace, slipping in the snow in an effort to escape. Instead of chasing after him, she sends a tripping jinx his way that allows her to go over and sit on his back.  
  
“You haven’t gone, have you?” There is no answer except an increase of swears as Harry struggles.  
  
“You need to, Harry. It’s not good to keep everything bottled up. You can’t blame yourself for their deaths. And I’m telling you as a friend, as  _family_ , that you should go, because you don’t see how it’s destroying you.”  
  
She takes it as a good sign when he stops struggling and says, “Okay, I’ll go.”  
  
When he receives an invitation to the Burrow for Christmas, he declines, because he doesn’t want to intrude on a family occasion.  
  
Harry does not look forward to Christmas this year, but he knows that he doesn’t want to spend it at Hogwarts. Neville invites him to spend the hols with his grandmother and him, but one look at him holding hands with Hannah Abbott, and he declines that invitation as well. It isn’t until Kreacher Apparates onto his bed while Draco and he are playing Wizard’s Chess, asking if he plans on going to Grimmauld Place, that Harry makes up his mind.  
  
“Sure, Kreacher, set up Sirius’ old room and a guest room as well. We’ll both be there.”  
  
If Draco is surprised, he doesn’t show it.  
  
A week later finds them in an established pattern, meeting only for meals and a game of chess after dinner. Harry has spent the last few days under his Cloak, purchasing gifts, sparing no expense, but taking extra care in their selection.  
  
A few days before Christmas, and Harry has finally gathered the courage to visit the mind Healer. He goes in with dread, afraid of what they would discuss.  
  
It wasn’t too bad. As he sits in front of the fire with a bottle of Firewhiskey, Harry is exhausted. He’s taking small sips, thinking about what the Healer had told him. For the first meeting, Harry had expected to be analysed, but the mind Healer had only laid out the structure of the programme, detailing what she hoped to accomplish at each appointment. They would go as far as Harry was comfortable, but in order for him to improve, he needed to be completely willing and truthful. Before sending him home, she had asked Harry to find his most recent happy memory that involved Hermione and Ron.  
  
It wasn’t easy finding the perfect memory, given that his past year had been busy with the war. The last time he remembers being happy had been at Fleur and Bill’s wedding, but what a disaster the evening had turned into. He opens his eyes to prevent the images of the Death Eater from coming to mind, only to find Draco peering down at him.  
  
“Are you all right, Potter? I heard . . .noises and I thought you were hurt.”  
  
Feeling a bit embarrassed, Harry shakes his head. “I’ve just been relieving some memories.”  
  
Draco says nothing as he sits down next to Harry and takes the bottle away to take a sip.  
  
“If you don’t like the memories, put them in a Pensieve.”  
  
“No, the mind Healer suspects I’m depressed and she wanted me to find a happy memory. I want Christmas to be happy again. If you could have anything in the world, Draco, what would you want?”  
  
Draco didn’t pause before saying, “I want to cast a Patronus.”  
  
“You can’t?” Harry picks up his wand and closes his eyes, weaving through the hazy waves of his mind until again he found the one of Ron and Hermione dancing at Fleur’s wedding. At Draco’s sharp inhale, Harry opens his eyes to watch the stag race around the room before fading away into wisps. “Why?”  
  
Draco looks at the fire as he says, “I need to be able to cast one for my NEWTs if I want to be an Auror.”  
  
Harry frowns at the response. “No, I mean, why can’t you cast one?”  
  
“Not many happy memories that I can use.”  
  
“Oh,” Harry says. “I can help you.”  
  
Draco’s hand shakes as he lifts the bottle to take a sip. “Why?”  
  
“The Healer’s right. I’m sick of being sad. We’ve seen enough destruction to last a lifetime.”  
  
Now Draco turns to actually look at Harry, giving him a look of disbelief “Merlin knows all the shit you’ve been through, Potter, but you can still conjure up some happy moments to cast a Patronus.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean I don’t remember. Don’t you think I can’t see their dead bodies out on the battlefield whenever I go to sleep? They shouldn’t have fucking died. I died, but I knew and accepted what I was getting into.” There’s a tightness in Harry’s throat and he closes his eyes again as to hide from the world.  
  
“What!”  
  
“I died that night in the Forbidden Forest. It was part of the prophecy.  _Neither can live while the other survives._  I was prepared, but why did they have to die?” Now tears are streaming down Harry’s face, but he doesn’t wipe them away, not even when Draco turns his head to look at him.  
  
“Potter, Granger was smart enough and Ron loyal enough to know the dangers and they still chose to stay with you and help, not because of some prophecy, but because they were your friends.”  
  
“I could have saved them. It’s my--”  
  
“Harry, don’t you say it’s your fault!” Draco says, cutting Harry off “Now listen because I’m only going to say this once. You defeated Voldemort at seventeen, at the cost of a lot of people, but most importantly your friends. And I know it fucking hurts because my godfather also died. He was the one person who probably gave a fuck about me! So yes, I think I know how you feel, Harry. But there’s nothing I can do about their deaths except to make sure it wasn’t all for nothing. You need to do the same. And you can’t do that, you can’t move on until you stop blaming yourself. Do you understand that?”  
  
Harry turns to face him, all glassy-eyed, snot and tears running down his face, glasses hanging off of his nose, and Draco can’t see the green eyes for the mess of black hair falling on his forehead, but Harry does manage one small nod.  
  
They sit in silence until Draco summons another Firewhiskey and downs half the bottle before giving it to Harry.  
  
Long after the embers in the fireplace have cooled down, they fall asleep, leaning against each other.  
  


 

**Four**  


  
  
  
  
Spring arrives at Hogwarts and Draco still hasn’t managed to produce a Patronus, though not from the lack of trying. Both Harry and Draco lie on the grass out by the Black Lake, having spent the entire Saturday practising the charm. Harry has tried everything he knows to teach him, from proper pronunciation, to correcting wand movement and stance, but nothing has worked. They even switched wands, thinking that the Ministry-issued wand couldn’t support that level of magic, but Harry’s stag had appeared. Right now, they were going over Draco’s memories to figure out which were strong and happy enough to use.  
  
“First toys at Christmas?” Harry asks, thinking that despite his experience, everyone would be happy that morning.  
  
“Any of my childhood memories won’t work, Harry. Remember, I was given everything I ever wanted, that I just asked for the sake of asking, knowing that nothing was too much. Also, I’m not using anything with  _him_  in it.” Right, they had agreed that using a memory with Lucius would be counterproductive.  
  
“What about flying?” The rush and exhilaration Harry felt when he first flew always carried a special place in Harry’s memories.  
  
“ _He_  taught me how to fly, and then I came to Hogwarts only to be told I’ve been doing it wrong all along.”  
  
“Yeah, sorry. There must be something you enjoyed at Hogwarts, something you were good at. What about breaking my nose on the train?”  
  
“That’s satisfaction, not happiness.” Yet there’s no mistaking that amused smirk Draco has on his face.  
  
They don’t mention any school memories after that event.  
  
“Well, first kiss?”  
  
“With Pansy.” He grimaces.  
  
“Oh. Didn’t you feel anything? She was your girlfriend after all.”  
  
“How would you feel kissing your family?”  
  
Harry shudders at the idea of kissing Aunt Petunia or Aunt Marge.  
  
“What about your first shag?”  
  
“Again, Pansy.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really, really drunk after the Yule Ball in our fourth year.”  
  
Then Harry remembers what Draco had told him the first night back at Hogwarts. “Well, what about-“ Harry paused. He didn’t know exactly how to bring this up in conversation, but he did feel his cheeks start to warm up.  
  
That caught Draco’s attention. “Spit it out, Potter!”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Harry says the words in a rush. “Your first experience with a guy.”  
Draco doesn’t hex him, which Harry takes as a sign that Draco trusts him enough to talk about it.  
  
“Like what? Kissing? Blaise, Theo, and some random non-Hufflepuffs.”  
  
“What about having sex?” Harry is proud that his voice doesn’t tremble on the last word, because as much as they’ve become closer friends over the past few months, he doesn’t want know anything more than strictly necessary.  
  
“Again, same guys, but it’s worth a shot.” He stands up, closing his eyes as he says  _Expecto Patronum._  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
“Well, I am shocked to see that my sex life wasn’t worthy of a Patronus.” Draco smirks at Harry.  
  
“Why do you think it is? I did enjoy them.”  
  
Before Harry can answer, Draco goes on, saying, “Perhaps it’s like you said earlier, you have to mean them. Those were just fucks.”  
  
“Surely the first boy must have meant something, if he confirmed that you were gay.”  
  
Draco scoffs. “I could probably kiss you and it wouldn’t mean a thing.”  
  
Harry tries to stay relaxed, even as his heart beats faster and he feels the tell-tale warmth blossom on his cheeks. Ever since Christmas, when Draco saw him at his worst, they’ve grown comfortable around each other to share personal information, secrets that he’s never told anyone, not even Ron or his mind Healer. And even though he’s never considered being with another man, he’s not blind enough to deny that Draco is beautiful. But that’s not the reason why he developed a crush on his friend, far from it. Being around Draco is never dull and Harry doesn’t think he’d ever want to walk away from that.  
  
“Yes, I think I’ll do it, and you can hex me when it’s over if you don’t like it, though I’ve never had any complaints.” Draco kneels in front of Harry, dropping his wand onto the grass before pulling Harry up against his chest. Harry’s hands tremble as he feels warmth seeping through the thin cotton shirt. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, but settles on wrapping them around Draco’s neck. This close, Harry catches a glimpse of grey eyes, before closing his own.  
  
Then very carefully, Draco brushes his lips against Harry’s, almost expecting a bite, and when nothing happens, leans in to deepen the kiss. That catches Harry off guard and he moans, allowing Draco to enter. He slides his hands into Draco’s hair, gently pulling to find the right angle to kiss properly. And then he feels Malfoy’s tongue everywhere, going slow enough for Harry to anticipate his next move and try to meet him there.  
  
If it weren’t for the need to breathe, Harry thinks that he would be rather content to stay in Draco’s arms for as long as possible. Until Draco breaks the kiss off to grab his wand and say  _Expecto Patronum_.  
  
A silver wisp came from the tip of Draco’s wand, glowing bright for a few seconds before disappearing.  
  
“Harry!” Draco yells, but the other man ignores him as he heads to the castle, not running, but something very close to it.  
  
The weeks following that afternoon are strange for Harry. He had wanted to apologize for running away, but when he tried, Draco had given him a blank stare. It’s as if nothing had happened. Draco still talked to Harry, helpful in class and with essays or playing games of Wizard’s chess in their spare time. He still remains the friend he was before the kiss.  
  
In the moments where Harry thinks about that afternoon, he focusses on Draco’s actions, on the way that the long fingers before sliding down to Harry’s back, pulling them closer so that their bodies matched up. Or the way that Harry’s moans and sharp little gasps only encouraged Draco to kiss harder.  
  
It leaves Harry frustrated, because he wants Draco to acknowledge that the kiss means something, has changed their friendship into something that could become more. After all, he’s seen it happen before with Hermione and Ron.  
  
Except that night in their dormitory, Harry wakes Draco up after dreaming of Draco’s death, his first nightmare in months. After Harry has calmed down, he asks Draco about the kiss again. Draco sits on the edge of his bed, exasperated, his hair mussed, staring bleary-eyed as Harry paces. They have been going over the same questions for at least half-an-hour, with the same results.  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about, Potter!”  
  
Upon hearing his surname, Harry gives up. Short of giving Draco Veritaserum, Harry finally has to admit that maybe Draco  _has_  obliviated that memory.  
  


 

**Five**  


  
  
  
  
As the end of the year drew to a close, it gives Harry a great excuse to push his burdens aside as he spends all of his time revising for NEWTs. Even if he didn’t do as well as he expected, he isn’t sure if he wants to be an Auror anymore. In the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, he sees that Draco still hasn’t managed to produce a Patronus, or even light the tip of his wand for that matter, and he can’t swallow past the lump stuck in his throat.  
  
After the exams, Harry spends his time walking down the same corridors and staircases that he had avoided at the beginning of the year. He doesn’t see death anymore; instead, as he’s saying goodbye to the first place he’s ever felt at home, he remembers less of the war and more of the happier memories he’s had with Ron and Hermione, and lately, Draco.  
  
On the final day before the Leaving Feast, Harry uses the Marauder’s Map to find Draco down in the Slytherin common room. When Harry sneaks in, Draco’s staring at the murky waters of the Black Lake that filters green through the reinforced glass. Harry goes to stand next to him. Neither speaks, looking instead at the Giant Squid’s tentacles sliding across the glass.  
  
Until he reaches out and grabs Draco’s hand, closing the fingers around a silver skeleton key.  
  
“What is this for?”  
  
“It’s your key to Grimmauld Place, so that you now have a place to stay.”  
  
Draco tries to hand him back the key, saying, “I’d rather not—“  
  
“I’m trying to apologise.”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“Because even though you only kissed me just to prove that there could never be anything between us, I still don’t want to lose you as a friend.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about-“  
  
The way Draco won’t even look at him is enough for Harry to finally loose his composure. “For fucks sake, Draco! Don’t be stupid, not about this! If nothing else, remember this.” Harry fists Draco’s shirt, pulling him down and kisses him hard, and it’s better than he remembers. There is nothing tender about the kiss, and it’s just what Harry needs to convince himself that it’s not a mistake.  
  
Later that night, as they’re sitting on the floor of the Astronomy Tower looking out at the starry night, Draco turns to Harry and just stares at him for a few moments.  
  
“Harry, I only cast the Patronus charm to prove to you that it meant something. That  _was_  one of the happier moments I had in a long time and I thought it would be enough to complete the spell.”  
  
“Then why didn’t it work?”  
  
“Not all of us are powerful enough to produce a Patronus on their very first time. But judging by the way the spell responded, I just need to find, or make, a happier memory.”  
  
Harry smiles at him. “That shouldn’t be too hard, then.”

 

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